'Why not?' Felicia said, forcing a laugh. 'It's true, isn't it? But don't feel sorry for me; I get my jollies-one way or another. Keep in touch, kiddo.'
And with a wave of a hand she was gone. Dora sat alone, feeling she needed something stronger than beer. So she moved to the bar and ordered a straight Chivas, Perrier on the side. She had never before had such a drink, but Felicia Starrett had ordered it, and Dora wanted to honor her. Go figure it, she told herself.
She had the one drink, then went upstairs to the corporate suite and worked on notes that would be source material for her report to Mike Trevalyan. Then she took a nap that worked wonders because she awoke in a sportive mood. She showered and phoned Mario while she was still naked. It seemed more intimate that way. Mario said he missed her, and she said she missed him. She made kissing sounds on the phone.
'Disgusting!' he said, laughing, and hung up.
She dressed, pulled on her parka, and sallied forth. It was a nippy night, the smell of snow in the air, and when she asked the Bedlington doorman to get her a cab, he said, 'Forget it!'
So she walked over to Fifth Avenue and then south, pausing to admire holiday displays in store windows. She saw the glittering tree at Rockefeller Center and stopped awhile to listen to a group of carolers who were singing 'Heilige Nacht' and taking up a collection for victims of AIDS.
She wandered on down Fifth Avenue, crisscrossing several times to inspect shop windows, searching for something unusual to give Mario for Christmas. The stone lions in front of the Library had wreaths around their necks, which she thought was a nice touch. A throng stood on line to view Lord amp; Taylor's animated windows, so she decided to see them another time.
She was at 34th Street before she knew it, and walked over to Herald Square to gawk at Macy's windows. It was then almost 7:30 and, having come this far, she suddenly decided to walk farther and visit Father Callaway's Church of the Holy Oneness.
It was colder now, a fine mist haloing the streetlights. She plodded on, hands deep in parka pockets, remembering what Detective Wenden had said about the stupidity of walking the city at night. She knew how to use a handgun but had never carried one, believing herself incapable of actually shooting someone. And if you couldn't do that, what was the point?
But she arrived at East 20th Street without incident, except for having to shoo away several panhandlers who accepted their rejection docilely enough. Stiffing them did not demonstrate the Christmas spirit, she admitted, but she had no desire to stop, open her shoulder bag, fumble for her wallet. Wenden didn't have to warn her about the danger of being fearless. She wasn't.
As Felicia Starrett had said, Callaway's church was located in a former store. It apparently had been a fast- food luncheonette because the legend TAKE OUT ORDERS was still lettered in one corner of the plate glass window. A wide Venetian blind, closed, concealed the interior from passersby, but a sign over the doorway read CHURCH OF THE HOLY ONENESS, ALL WELCOME in a cursive script.
Dora paused before entering and suddenly felt a hard object pressing into her back. 'Your money or your life,' a harsh voice grated. She whirled to see Detective John Wenden grinning and digging a knuckle into her ribs.
'You louse!' she gasped. 'You really scared me.'
'Serves you right,' he said. 'What the hell are you doing down here by yourself?'
'Curiosity,' she said. 'What are you doing here?'
'Oh, I had some time to kill,' he said casually, 'and figured I'd catch the preacher's act. Let's go in.'
'Let's sit in the back,' she suggested. 'Mrs. Starrett may be here, and I'd just as soon she didn't see me.'
'Suits me,' he said. 'I hope the place is heated.'
It was overheated. About fifty folding chairs were set up in a long, narrow room, facing a low stage with a lectern and upright piano. The majority of the chairs were occupied, mostly by well-dressed matrons. But there were a few young couples, a scatter of single men and women, and a couple of derelicts who had obviously come in to warm up. They were sleeping.
A plump, baldish man was seated at the piano playing and singing 'O Little Town of Bethlehem' in a surprisingly clarion tenor. The audience seemed to be listening attentively. Conti and Wenden took off their coats and slid into chairs in the back row. Dora craned and spotted Mrs. Olivia Starrett seated up front.
The hymn ended, the pianist rose and left the stage, exiting through a rear doorway. The audience stirred, then settled down and waited expectantly. A few moments later Father Brian Callaway entered, striding purposefully across the stage. He stood erect behind the lectern, smiling at his audience.
He was wearing a long cassock of white satin, the sleeves unusually wide and billowing. The front was edged with purple piping, cuffs and hem decorated with gold embroidery. A diamond ring sparkled on the forefinger of his right hand.
'Father Gotrocks,' Wenden whispered to Dora.
'Shh,' she said.
'Good evening, brothers and sisters,' Callaway began in a warm, conversational tone. 'Welcome to the Church of the Holy Oneness. After the service, coffee and cake will be served, and you will be asked to contribute voluntarily to the work of the Church which, as many of you know, includes daily distribution of food to those unfortunates who, often through no fault of their own, are without means to provide for themselves.
'Tonight I want to talk to you about the environment. Not acid rain, the pollution of our air and water, the destruction of our forests and coastline, but personal environment, the pollution of our souls and the need to seek what I call the Divine Harmony, in which we are one with nature, with each other, and with God.'
He developed this theme in more detail during the following thirty minutes. He likened greed, envy, lust, and other sins to lethal chemicals that poisoned the soil and foods grown from it. He said that the earth could not endure such contamination indefinitely, and similarly the human soul could not withstand the corrosion of moral offenses that weakened, debilitated, and would eventually destroy the individual and inevitably all of society.
The solution, he stated in a calm, reasonable manner, was to recognize that just as the physical environment was one, interdependent, and sacred, so the moral environment was one, and it demanded care, sacrifice, and, above all, love if we were to find a Divine Harmony with nature, people, and with God: a Holy Oneness that encompassed all joys and all sorrows.
He was still speaking of the Holy Oneness when Wenden tugged at Dora's sleeve.
'Let's split,' he said in a low voice.
She nodded, and they gathered up their coats and slipped away. Apparently neither the pastor nor anyone in that rapt audience noticed their departure. Outside, the mist had thickened to a freezing drizzle.
'I've got a car,' the detective said, 'but there's a pizza joint just around the corner on Third. We won't get too wet.'
'Let's go,' Dora said. She took his arm, and they scurried.
A few minutes later they were snugly settled in a booth, breathing garlicky air, sipping cold beers, and waiting for their Mammoth Supreme, half-anchovy, half-pepperoni.
'The guy surprised me,' Wenden said. 'I thought he'd be a religious windbag, one of those 'Come to Jesus!' shouters. But I have to admit he sounded sincere, like he really believes in that snake oil he's peddling.'
'Maybe he does,' Dora said. 'I thought he was impressive. Very low-key, very persuasive. Tell me the truth: How come you found time to catch him in action?'
Wenden shrugged. 'I really don't know. Maybe because he's so smooth and has too many teeth. How's that for scientific crime detection?'
They stared at each other for a thoughtful moment.
'Tell you what,' Dora said finally, 'I'll ask my boss to run Callaway through our computer. But our data base only includes people who have been involved in insurance scams.'
'Do it,' the detective urged. 'Just for the fun of it.'
Their giant pizza was served, and they dug in, plucking paper napkins from the dispenser.
'How you coming with the Starrett family?' Wenden asked her.
'All right, I guess. So far everyone's been very cooperative. The net result is zilch. Why do I have a feeling I'm not asking the right questions?'
'Like what?' he said. 'Like 'Did you kill your husband?' or 'Did you murder your father?' '
'Nothing as gross as that,' she said. 'But I'm convinced that family has secrets.'
'All families have secrets.'
'But the Starretts' secrets may have something to do with the homicide. I tell you, John-'
